


Curiosity

by wedjateye



Series: Craving [2]
Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedjateye/pseuds/wedjateye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Craving. Yohji can't believe that Aya is choosing <i>now</i> to show an interest in a social life. An interest that so far doesn't include Yohji.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

Perfect vantage point. Just perfect. It's not easy to be inconspicuous in Seven, but the  
large van parked in front of him is providing fantastic cover, without blocking any of  
Yohji's view of the restaurant door. He would have hired a blander vehicle - Yohji's lip  
curls involuntarily, maybe - but there was no time when the call came.

Yohji snorts as he recalls how easy it was to wangle information out of the target. A  
touch of judicious flattery and the man gushed times and locations. Much better than two  
nights ago, when Yohji all but ruined his new boots stomping from night club to night  
club in the rain. His elation at finally locating his target had been swiftly extinguished by  
the sight before him.

Yohji's view from the catwalk was tantalisingly close. Almost touching distance.

Touching was exactly what that bastard Ichiro had been doing. Hands everywhere. The  
tight press of writhing bodies on the dance floor, no doubt his sleazy excuse for grinding  
away, pelvis to pelvis, rather than actually dancing. And was he trying to suffocate his  
partner? His tongue seemed to want to take up permanent residence in his suffering  
gropee's throat.

Yohji's fingers had itched so badly for his wire, he'd almost ignored the roomful of  
witnesses. Even now, he can imagine the satisfying tension against his palms; the sweet  
sound of futile, gasping breaths… Sanity prevailed when Ichiro's attempt to insert a hand  
into the back of Aya's pants was sidetracked by a vicious stamp to Ichiro's instep. Aya  
was far too graceful for that not to be deliberate. Yohji's outrage was further mollified by  
Ichiro's obvious frustration, and Aya's answering expression of bored indifference.

Yohji's confidence had been bolstered when Aya and Ichiro left not long afterwards, with  
Aya allowing nothing more than a perfunctory kiss before he peeled Ichiro's hands away  
from his body and climbed, alone, into his Porsche to drive home.

So what the hell is Aya doing now? Going out to dinner with the disgusting leech just 48  
hours later? This is their third date this week, if Yohji has kept track properly. With little  
else occupying his thoughts, he's pretty certain he hasn't missed much.

A distinctive 'clunk' interrupts Yohji's thoughts. He pulls Seven's cigarette lighter out  
and regards the glowing end despondently. When is he going to break that habit? Sighing  
he pushes the lighter back into place, before sliding a hand along his bicep for the  
hundredth time that day. Damn patch. He was almost positive it had fallen off this time; it  
doesn't seem to be doing anything.

Surveillance is Yohji's least favourite past time. Smoking made it marginally less  
excruciating. But that's the point here. In three days, it will be one whole month since  
Aya agreed to give Yohji a chance if he gave up his cigarettes. Three days.

Ichiro be damned if he thinks he has a snowball's chance of beating him to his goal. Not  
if Yohji has any say in it. Which, for practical purposes, means not if Yohji skulking in  
shadows, desperately avoiding detection, can influence the outcome one iota.

Much as Yohji can't believe that Aya is choosing now, _now_ for God's sake, to finally  
show an interest in having a social life, he just has to accept it for the time being. Stay  
calm. Aya can't possibly be serious about Ichiro Miki. The slimy, smarmy, smug bastard  
makes Yohji's skin crawl. Maybe Aya's instinct for these things isn't as developed as  
Yohji's – what, with Aya's reclusive nature - but Aya has a very short fuse. It's only a  
matter of time before Mr PR makes a fatal misstep, and Aya will nail him to the wall for  
it. If Yohji doesn't beat him to it.

Three days. Yohji steadfastly ignores his minor transgression. Aya forgave him the lapse.  
Has to have – or he wouldn't have given him the nicotine patches. Sure, they haven't  
actually discussed it… and Aya isn't really known for his flexibility and willingness to  
compromise… No. At worst the clock was reset, and Aya will make Yohji suffer through  
an eleven-day penalty before succumbing. If it were game over, Aya would have told  
him. He's not inhuman after all. Not totally inhuman…

In three days Yohji can make his move. Whatever that may be. He hasn't quite worked  
out the details yet. He's still collating data. Hence the surveillance. And he's damn sure  
that if he tries anything prematurely, Aya will do worse than slap a penalty on him. This  
requires a cool head. Subterfuge. All the skills Yohji has worked so hard to acquire  
because they keep him alive – a vital trait in an assassin.

Movement. The restaurant door opens and Yohji slides down in his seat, body tense, as it  
has been every time someone has exited in the last two hours. No. Another false alarm.  
Nice legs though; ankles that almost put Manx's to shame, and hips that sway invitingly  
as the petite brunette clings to the arm of the thuggish man escorting her away. She's  
certainly not with him for his looks.

Yohji sighs again and wonders what Ichiro has, that Aya consented to date him. He's  
suave, sure. Knows how to dress, though he overdoes it with coordinated leather outfits.  
Yohji sniffs. Flaunting your assets works better with imagination and some subtlety.

It's really his attitude that scrapes Yohji's nerves raw. The possessive tone in his voice  
when he calls the Koneko asking for Aya. His hand on the small of Aya's back when he  
walks next to him. For fuck's sake. Aya could gut Ichiro in a heartbeat. He certainly  
doesn't need his assistance to get from A to B. Aya's profile may be classic – sculpted  
lines suggesting delicate bones, but there is nothing fragile about him. Well, maybe his  
composure in a room containing a Takatori. But that's Yohji's whole point! Just who the  
hell does Ichiro think he's dating anyway? He hasn't a clue who Aya is. He hasn't lusted  
after him for months, and watched his back, and patched his wounds, and _fuck_ …

Three days. Just three more days.

Yohji's flow of righteous indignation dissipates suddenly, as he realises he almost missed  
Ichiro and Aya leaving the restaurant. His heart pounds as he scrunches low into his seat,  
gripping the steering wheel hard and breathing deeply through his mouth. It's okay, he  
reassures himself - neither man shows any sign of having spotted him. Ichiro is intent on  
making some point or another; gesticulating emphatically, punctuating and underlining  
with his cigarette. Yohji can tell from Aya's posture that he is not convinced. They don't  
seem to be going anywhere, judging from the way Aya has planted his legs and crossed  
his arms. Even from this distance, Yohji can see Ichiro's predatory smile as he drags  
confidently on his smoke, before reaching one hand forward to Aya's face.

Yohji's heart gallops again as Aya steps back fluidly to avoid the gesture, the lines of his  
body flowing into a stance Yohji would recognise in a dark alley on a moonless night. He  
feels a victory smile break across his face. Ichiro is dealing with Abysinnian now. The  
oblivious fool. Ichiro frowns as he closes the gap, only to be left blinking as Aya neatly  
sidesteps and melts away. Yohji barely restrains himself from leaping onto his seat to  
whoop with joy. About time that self-satisfied bastard got what was coming to him.

"Kudoh."

Iced water stutters along Yohji's veins. Oh, fuck. He is so dead. He squeezes his eyes  
closed, hunching blindly in a futile effort at protecting his vital organs. The passenger  
door clicks open and closed. A few breathless moments pass.

"Kudoh."

"Yes?" Yohji squeaks, peering through eyes barely slit open.

"Drive."

"Drive?" Yohji echoes stupidly, uncurling in astonishment.

Aya sighs heavily, resting his head against his seat back, staring blankly up at the sky.

"You do possess the requisite skills; barely. I've witnessed it myself." Aya's voice is so  
devoid of colour, Yohji can't quite process the words.

Aya turns his head, meets Yohji's wide-eyed gaze with a potent glare.

"Would you like me to drive and you can walk home?" Aya enquires with spine-tingling  
calm.

Finally Yohji's brain comes back on line.

"You drive my car? Not fucking likely."

Aya stares pointedly at the ignition and Yohji responds by peeling out of the street as if  
Schwartz had materialised next to them. Aya seems satisfied with the change in location.  
He allows his head to loll, exuding an air of weariness that Yohji has seldom seen in him  
before. Best not to push things. Aya will likely mete out punishment soon enough for  
Yohji's stalking. The fact that he was conveniently on hand to provide transport when it  
was required may get him home in one piece. If he keeps his mouth shut.

"What happened?" Shit. So much for that plan.

Aya straightens up, radiating tension. Great going Yohji.

"What's it to you?" Aya replies, raising one brow and turning towards Yohji to regard  
him quizzically.

Yohji hadn't expected a response. Not that Aya actually answered his question.

"I guess you could call me an interested party," Yohji manages, after a full minute of  
squirming under Aya's scrutiny. Maybe honesty will pay, for once. Aya stares moodily  
out of the window. Maybe not then. Yohji finds himself fiddling with the cigarette lighter  
once more. He sighs in disgust.

"I was smothering in inevitability," Aya says so softly that Yohji strains to make out the  
words over the roar of the engine.

Yohji's heart twists painfully at the bleak picture that paints. He shakes himself. Ichiro is  
an utter dick. Aya should have known better.

"Can't have been all bad. There must have been something that made you go out with  
him in the first place." Moron! Why don't you plan their engagement party while you're  
at it?

"I was… curious," Aya admits.

Curious? Yohji boggles. Curious about what was under all that leather? Curious as to  
whether Ichiro's belief that he was sex incarnate was justified? It couldn't possibly be  
that Aya was just curious about sex altogether…

"What were you curious about?" Man, Yohji hit puberty a good nine years ago. Why the  
fuck can't his voice remember that fact?

"I wondered what my life might have been like."

Oh.

Night air slides damply against Yohji's skin. He shivers. Maybe he should have put the  
top up.

Aya makes a small, dejected noise. "I should have known better."

Yep, definitely should have put the top up.

"I kill people. There's never going to be anything else - "

Aya braces both hands against the dash, startled eyes turned to Yohji as he swerves to the  
edge of the road, tyres squealing.

Yohji yanks the park brake on viciously, muscles trembling as if he'd just bolted up ten  
flights of stairs.

"Fuck that shit, Aya! So you had a lousy date. That's what life's like. A whole heap of  
lousy dates, and if you're lucky you go on a few good ones, and maybe even find  
someone who means something to you."

Aya is staring at him as if he has just presented incontrovertible evidence of mental  
infirmity. Yohji lets out a frustrated snarl, grabbing Aya's shoulders and giving them a  
shake as he declares –

"There's nothing wrong with you, idiot!"

Aya tosses hair out of eyes that glitter within a dark scowl. Yohji gulps, slowly easing his  
grip on firm muscle. He flinches as Aya's hands flash towards him, hoping that his death  
will be sudden and painless. Vertigo assails him as his head is jerked forward and his air  
supply cut off by a smothering presence against his mouth. Oh God. Aya's mouth,  
pressed against his. Hot. Demanding. This is so much better than breathing.

Yohji opens his lips, drowns in blissful warmth. Frantic for more, his hands slide into  
lush hair. His body arches, disregards the sharp jab of gear-stick-into-hip, desperate for  
contact with Aya. The air resonates with needy, incoherent noises.

The kiss finally breaks, Yohji's mouth moves across Aya's jaw, tongue exploring the  
faint prickling texture.

"Yohji", Aya pants harshly, voice so deepened by lust that Yohji hardens in response;  
aches to hear his name again, raw and sinful on Aya's lips. He buries his face in Aya's  
hair, breathing deeply, trying to ease his body back from the brink, focusing on the  
torture of being wedged between steering wheel and gear-box. Aya's hands are not  
helping matters – stroking along Yohji's ribs, from shoulder blades all the way down to  
the top of his jeans; lingering where the swell of Yohji's ass just rises above the fabric.  
Aya's scent is everywhere – shampoo, and musk and something else; tugging  
maddeningly at Yohji's brain.

"Not here," Yohji gasps.

"Where then?" Aya urges.

Fuck. The back seat might do. Or an alleyway. Yohji shakes his head. He's waited  
forever for this. Too long to ruin it with a furtive quickie, no lubricant in sight.

Aya latches on to Yohji's ear lobe, sucking fiercely. Coherent thought spins away. Maybe  
right here, right now is the only option, since Yohji feels too intoxicated to drive. He  
breathes in shallow pants, until realisation hits. Aya's mouth pops wetly free, as Yohji  
grabs his head to sniff hard at his hair and neck.

That's _it_. He's taking Aya home, so he can stamp his presence all over his skin again  
and again.

"What is it?"

Yohji sniffs again. "Nothing." Just that bastard's cigarette taint all over you.

"Kudoh," Aya warns, twisting against Yohji's grip. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"It's nothing," Yohji insists, unable to resist another deep inhalation. "Just… fucking  
smokers."

Aya laughs, the sound rich and warm.

"Yeah. He was irritating. And he assumed he was going to get to top."

Yohji muffles his weak chuckle against Aya's neck. He swallows to wet his throat.

"I could have told you he was an arrogant prick, Ayan."

Yohji risks a look, decides to interpret Aya's smirk as affectionate, and crushes their  
mouths together before Aya can disabuse him.

Aya breaks off the kiss far too soon, using one hand to pry Yohji's chin away, holding  
him steady until Yohji's breathing slows and his eyes manage to move away from his  
goal and lock onto Aya's own.

"I think a bed is in order, Kudoh."

"Huh?"

"Let's go home," Aya says slowly and distinctly. It's like trying to understand words  
spoken underwater, but Yohji finally gets it and slides regretfully back into his own seat.

~

The drive is tortuous. Yohji's brain sparks dangerously close to overload with every  
heated look Aya throws him.

Aya _wants_ him.

Yohji can't believe his good fortune.

Except that Aya wanting him isn't turning out exactly as Yohji imagined, since Aya may  
well want things that Yohji isn't sure about.

A stealthy sideways glance threatens to result in groin meltdown; what with the way  
Aya's tongue flicks across his bottom lip, leaving it glistening in the glow of the  
streetlights.

Yohji isn't going to fuck this up. He's been technicolour dreaming about having Aya in  
bed for –

Yohji's breath jolts from his lungs, as Aya's hand suddenly finds his thigh.

Hell. He'd probably let half of Schwartz do him, if it would help get him anywhere with  
Aya.

Aya's hand shifts fractionally higher, and Yohji's foot presses hard on the accelerator in a  
reflex response that seem perfectly natural.

Not the freaky kid or the knife-licking psycho. The other half. And why the fuck is he  
thinking about anything other than the destination of Aya's hand?

The Koneko careens into sight and Yohji almost sobs with relief.

~

Yohji stumbles up the stairs behind Aya, muscles working against each other in the thick  
fog of lust. He needs to slow this down, take back some control. Get his damn brain to  
stop interfering with unwanted thoughts that tangle his feet.

Aya is waiting for Yohji just inside the doorway to his bedroom. Yohji closes the door  
carefully, leans solidly against it to catch his breath. Familiar ground. He can take it from  
here.

But Aya is single mindedly following his own timetable; kicking off his boots before  
spinning Yohji towards the bed so suddenly, that Yohji grabs for Aya's shoulders to keep  
from falling.

"I've never seen you like this,"Yohji gasps.

"All that saying no got me a bit worked up," Aya admits, easing Yohji's t-shirt up, over  
his shoulder blades, a determined look on his face.

"You're not… you're not thinking of him, are you?" Yohji asks uneasily.

Aya slaps the back of Yohji's head. Hard.

"Idiot."

Yohji considers that, while the heat from Aya's body pulses insistently against his bared  
skin. "Yeah. I really am. Ignore me."

"With pleasure," Aya growls, ripping Yohji's shirt over his head with such force that it  
throbs even harder.

Aya ducks his head to take one of Yohji's nipples between his teeth, rolling it back and  
forth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue whilst increasing the exquisite pressure by  
degrees. Yohji groans helplessly and hopes the bed will catch him if he collapses in a  
dizzy heap. The back of his head isn't the only thing throbbing now. _God_ , he _wants_  
this. All of this. Whatever this turns out to be.

Yohji slides his hands deep into Aya's hair, grips firmly and tugs him up for a hungry  
kiss, that does nothing to sate the desire thrumming along Yohji's skin. Frustrated, he  
shoves Aya back, too far gone to care when Aya's eyes narrow and anger darkens his  
already flushed skin.

"Get undressed Aya, before my brain melts."

Yohji's voice is husky with a desperation that seems to pacify Aya. He gracefully strips  
away t-shirt, trousers and boxers, while Yohji gapes with helpless lust. Aya has raised  
both eyebrows, then lowered them in displeasure, before Yohji recovers enough to  
fumble with the fly of his jeans. Distracted, he isn't quite sure how he ends up sprawled  
on his bed. As Aya proceeds to dispense with Yohji's annoying clothing far more  
efficiently than Yohji was managing, he has no objections.

Anything to get him to this faster – the ripple of muscles beneath Yohji's hands as he  
pulls Aya against him, heat melding their skin together, weight pressing Yohji into the  
bed, Aya's mouth - hot, wet and urgent against his own; muffling Yohji's moans of  
pleasure.

Yohji begins to protest as Aya levers himself away, but the words flounder together as  
Aya wraps one hand around Yohji's erection, sliding firmly down to the base before  
dragging his fingers lightly back up to the tip. Yohji squirms at the prickling feeling that  
spreads from his groin, flutters across his belly and shivers his nipples into aching peaks.

Aya does it again, this time with the barest rasp of fingernails, and _fuck_ but nothing  
should feel _that_ good. Yohji pants, mouth hanging open as Aya's lips quirk in  
satisfaction and his fingers deftly peel back Yohji's foreskin. Then he's moving, moving  
down Yohji's body, and Yohji is incapable of doing anything other than letting his head  
fall back, eyes closing, mind scrabbling for words of encouragement or prayer – whatever  
it takes to guide Aya to –

"Ahh, fuck!"

Lips and tongue and heat and Yohji can't help but thrust, hips bucking relentlessly, cock  
pushing into that glorious mouth, and Aya _lets_ him. Aya swallows and _sucks_ , and,  
oh fuck, Yohji might just die right now, if he's not dead already, because how else could  
he be fucking the back of Aya's throat, if this isn't some twisted version of heaven for  
screwed-up assassins?

Yohji's hips thud back to earth as Aya pulls his mouth free, one hand stroking along  
Yohji's slick length.

"Do you have anything we can use for lube?"

The question is punctuated by a single teasing fingertip. It must be his sudden confusion,  
about when Aya got his other hand back _there_ , that renders Yohji stupid.

"Yohji? Lubricant?"

"Umm, yeah, I have lubricant we can use as… lubricant."

Aya looks far too amused as Yohji belatedly drags open a drawer and hands over a tube,  
grateful that Aya passes no comment on the fact that it is half empty. Aya squeezes a blob  
into one palm then looks at Yohji quizzically.

"What?" Yohji asks finally, hoping that his face looks flushed with passion alone. "Oh".  
Realisation dawns, and Yohji shakes his head in annoyance, sure that his embarrassment  
is now plainly visible as he fishes out a condom.

Yohji takes a deep, calming breath and ignores the slight tremor of his hands as he rips  
open the packet.

"Why don't I get this on you?" His voice is reassuringly normal. Good. This is Aya after  
all. His friend of almost a year. Sort of friend. Teammate.

Aya forestalls Yohji by grabbing his wrist as he reaches for Aya's cock.

"Yohji."

"What?" Yohji asks, mystified as Aya's face creases into a frown.

"Are you sure…" Aya chews uncertainly on his lip and Yohji feels warmth flood through  
him. This is really going to be all right.

"Whatever you want Aya. Seriously. Anything is fine with me."

Aya smiles. An honest to goodness, breathtaking, gorgeous smile. Yohji's stomach has  
just flip-flopped back into place when Aya makes the bottom of it drop away completely  
by closing his lubed hand around Yohji's cock. Yohji hisses as his erection surges  
instantly back to full hardness.

"Relax Yohji," Aya teases, leaning forward to brush his lips along Yohji's jaw. Hot  
breath hovers next to Yohji's ear and Aya's voice has dropped at least an octave as he  
growls, "I want you to fuck me."

 _God_. "You do?" Yohji manages, forcing himself to focus past the slide and grip, the  
all-consuming urge to thrust into Aya's fist. "I can do that. Unless you'd rather…"

"Next time," Aya murmurs, tongue flicking Yohji's earlobe. "If we make it that far."

Yohji grabs at Aya's wrist, stills the motion of his hand so he can think straight. None of  
that crap. Yohji _suffered_ to get this chance, and so far, there's every indication that it  
was more than worth it.

"We'll make it that far, " Yohji insists.

Aya rolls his eyes and swoops in to silence Yohji by forcibly inserting his tongue into  
Yohji's mouth. It's very distracting, what with the thrusting, and the way Yohji seems to  
have lost control of the action lower down again too.

"Aya – " Yohji whines in a last ditch effort at making his point, while Aya has paused  
for breath.

"Shut up, Kudoh. Lets fuck."

OK then. First things first.

All business, Aya retrieves the forgotten condom and smoothes it expertly onto Yohji's  
cock. Yohji almost swallows his tongue when he opens his eyes after counting backwards  
to a state of calm, to find that Aya has moved on to preparing himself. Kneeling astride  
Yohji's thighs, face a mask of concentration, one hand holding his perfect cock and balls  
out of the way, while the fingers of the other are out of sight but obviously _moving_.

Yohji moves without thought, earning a disgruntled glare from Aya as he thuds  
backwards into the mattress, Yohji following to land heavily on top of him. Yohji quickly  
fastens his lips to Aya's, before he can regain enough breath to berate him. He doesn't let  
up the seal, tongue dipping and diving, until he has managed to locate the tube of  
lubricant and drench the fingers of one hand.

"Let me?" Yohji asks huskily, fingers quivering at the already slick opening into Aya's  
body.

Aya's eyelids flutter closed as he draws one leg aside, bending his knee to bring it up to  
his chest. Yohji hisses as tight muscle resistance gives way, and he slides two fingers  
inside. Aya's eyes fly open as Yohji unerringly finds his target.

"Good?" Yohji chuckles, brushing more firmly against the spot. Yohji's smile broadens  
as Aya shudders in response, the muscles of his neck straining as he swallows  
convulsively.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"Shut the fuck up, Kudoh," Aya grunts, chest arching. "Fuck me already."

"With pleasure," Yohji purrs.

"Wait," Aya orders as Yohji hooks one hand under his other knee. Aya rummages for a  
pillow, pushes his hips up to slide it into place and hurriedly settles himself. He lifts his  
leg onto Yohji's shoulder then yanks Yohji's hips closer to his own.

"Now, Yohji," Aya demands.

"Whatever you want," Yohji agrees, gasping as he slides in much further than expected  
on his first push. It isn't enough to satisfy Aya though – he scrabbles his hands further  
back, grabs Yohji's ass and _pulls_ with all his strength.

Yohji struggles to regain control, buried to the root, every nerve ending screaming at him  
to pound and thrust and dominate. But he can't tell if the intense noises escaping Aya's  
throat are pain or pleasure, so he fights his body's demands, muscles straining, sweat  
stinging his eyes.

"Yohji," Aya rasps, glare boring through Yohji's blurred vision, "move _now_ , or I will  
 _gut_ you."

Yohji groans. He shouldn't find Aya's version of bedroom talk _that_ fucking hot.

Between them they set a scorching rhythm, forceful thrusts sped by Aya digging bruising  
fingers into Yohji's back and ass. Yohji braces one arm next to Aya's shoulder, wishing  
he could lower himself enough to feel Aya's heated breath, panting against his lips. He  
contents himself instead, with reaching for Aya's cock, sweat soaked fingers sliding  
along it with every flex of his hips.

Aya's breathing grows as ragged as Yohji's, his fingers spasm painfully against the small  
of Yohji's back. Yohji feels skin give way into burning arcs of pleasure, until orgasm rips  
through him, swamping everything in a tidal wave of heat.

"Yohji," Aya moans, his lips tickling Yohji's neck, where he has collapsed in a heap.  
Yohji clutches at the sticky warmth filling his palm, closes his eyes and takes deep  
calming breaths.

Maybe Aya will agree to lie here like this forever. Or at least until they want to do it all  
again. The thought is barely formed before Aya shifts restlessly. Yohji tries not to tense.  
He must, after all, be heavy. He moves his weight to one side and grabs for a sheet to clean  
Aya with. One less available excuse for Aya to leap out of bed.

Aya is staring at the ceiling when Yohji cautiously settles himself back against his  
warmth. He can't help but follow his gaze, hoping for a clue as to what is so absorbing.  
The silence stretches. Yohji fights the compulsion to fidget and ruin everything by  
blurting something idiotic.

"You've fucked a man before." Yohji jumps, and just barely holds back his curse at the  
flatness of Aya's tone.

"I've fucked a lot of people before," Yohji answers carefully, not sure where this is  
going.

"Not any more though."

The slight edge to Aya's voice has Yohji glancing sideways at him, catching the fiercely  
intent look on Aya's face. Yohji works hard to suppress the grin that wants to bubble  
forth in response. He absolutely does not want any misunderstandings to arise between  
them, so he keeps his expression serious, his tone calm and certain.

"No, not any more."

Aya closes his eyes, the tension in his body easing slowly, as Yohji wraps an arm more  
securely around him. 


End file.
